


Collateral Damage

by boonies



Category: DBSK|Tohoshinki|TVXQ
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-05
Updated: 2013-04-05
Packaged: 2017-12-07 12:24:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/748472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boonies/pseuds/boonies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Yoochun destroys everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Collateral Damage

*

 

Yoochun says, "I fucked up."

 

He says, head in his hands, knees trembling, pale and hungover and lost, "I fucked up so bad."

 

Junsu says, "It'll be okay."

 

He says, crouched by Yoochun, one hand patting his back, worried and supportive and good, "Everything's gonna be okay."

 

Jaejoong can't say anything.

 

*

 

"Two months is a long time," Yoochun's manager says. "Don't say anything until—"

 

Two months and cell division can go wrong. Things can undo themselves.

 

Every day, the thing growing somewhere across the city can just disappear, can slough off in the shower, can just terminate itself.

 

The thing that is half Yoochun.

 

"Don't do anything," Jaejoong agrees, "until it's been at least three months."

 

Yoochun does something anyway.

 

*

 

Jaejoong knows life is a formula.

 

A straight line.

 

He knows the stops along the way include this, but he thought—

 

He didn't think—

 

Yoochun's always been a graph, and charted on his body, there were stops Jaejoong thought would never happen.

 

So when Yoochun says, "I'm gonna marry her," Jaejoong can't understand.

 

*

 

On the morning of the official announcement, Junsu sends out a congratulatory tweet.

 

Jaejoong's stream is flooded with _waah yoochun oppa must be really happy_ and _noooo_ and _jaejoong oppa are you next :3_

 

Jaejoong tries to update twitter. Tries four times to write something positive. Tries to copy Junsu's message.

 

He deactivates his account instead.

 

*

 

"We gotta meet her eventually," Junsu reasons.

 

Jaejoong checks the calendar. "I have a day off on the 14th?"

 

After Junsu hangs up, Jaejoong books a one-day surprise fanmeet in Bangkok.

 

On the 14th.

 

*

 

In Bangkok, there's a fanboy.

 

He's tall and skinny and has broad shoulders and they fuck hard and fast in a humid hotel room.

 

By morning, Jaejoong's covered in marks and bites and scratches.

 

He makes sure they don't heal.

 

He takes a scalding hot shower and then the red-eye flight to Seoul.

 

Jet-lagged, he strolls into the recording studio, affecting nonchalance, and mutters, "Hey."

 

Junsu and Yoochun are grinning over a music sheet, but they both look up when the door clicks shut behind him.

 

"How was Bang—" Junsu greets happily then trails off, gaze evaluating Jaejoong's bare collarbones. "Oh."

 

Yoochun's eyes darken.

 

"You know you don't have to take the name literally, right," he says expressionlessly, tapping a pencil to his knee.

 

With a shrug, Jaejoong takes off his jacket. He makes sure his t-shirt rides up. Catches Yoochun staring. Knows there's teeth marks by his hip bone, knows he looks wrecked and sated and properly fucked.

 

"When in Rome..." he says and grabs a chair.

 

He tries to smile but his mouth hurts.

 

"You walked like this around the airport?" Yoochun asks, voice tightly controlled.

 

Junsu sighs and busies himself with his phone.

 

"There's probably a million fucking articles already up," Yoochun chastises. "You'll cause a scandal."

 

Jaejoong meets his gaze. "Right, sorry, I forgot. We've met our quota with yours."

 

Yoochun flinches.

 

Jaejoong doesn't even feel bad.

 

*

 

Yoochun has always really wanted a daughter.

 

So when the ultrasound pictures arrive to Yoochun's phone and he says with a calm expression, "Apparently, it's a boy," Jaejoong feels smug. Satisfied.

 

Hopeful.

 

But then Yoochun opens up a browser and fills his phone history with _toys for boys_ and _boy names_ and Jaejoong feels a wall forming between them, building itself brick by brick, impossibly fast.

 

*

 

"I need to set a good example," Yoochun explains, flipping through a dermatology brochure.

 

Jaejoong's heart contracts painfully.

 

"There's nothing wrong with tattoos," he says, hoarse. "Your kid won't fucking care if—"

 

"I have to," Yoochun says and won't meet his eyes. "I have to get it removed."

 

Jaejoong feels his eyes burn.

 

Rough, frustrated, Yoochun drags a hand down his face, "I can't keep it."

 

*

 

Piece by piece, Jaejoong disappears from Yoochun's body.

 

Layer by layer, he's erased from Yoochun's life.

 

*

 

It's not Jaejoongie or Jaejoong-ah and Joongie anymore.

 

It's just hyung.

*

 

 

There's another announcement after the wedding and Junsu rolls his eyes at his phone.

 

He sticks the screen in Jaejoong's face.

 

It's a litany of _i knew it_ and _that scheming bitch_ and _oppa don't stay married just for this_.

 

"Sometimes," Junsu frowns, "the fans are too much."

 

Jaejoong keeps his mouth shut.

 

*

 

There's a gift basket from Yunho and Changmin.

 

It's got fruit and stuffed animals and candy and a politely-worded card. Junsu eats most of the chocolate and steals a toy cat. Yoochun takes a picture.

 

Later, there's a smaller basket—just liquor—delivered to Jaejoong's penthouse.

 

There's a card there, too, not at all polite, in Changmin's scratchy handwriting, and all it says is:

 

_sorry_.

 

*

 

If, during the next live performance Jaejoong catches on TV, Changmin holds onto Yunho a little more possessively, it's probably just Jaejoong's imagination.

 

*

 

He needs to drink and get laid and sleep for a week.

 

But all he can do, all he wants to do, is pick up the phone and call Yoochun.

 

So he does.

 

"Man," Yoochun whines on the first ring. There's a weird snapping noise in the background. "I'm trying to install this fucking car seat and it's just... it's a fucking death trap. Come help."

 

Jaejoong hangs up.

 

*

 

Yoochun doesn't finish his solo album.

 

It's a mess, he says to an interviewer; a bipolar indecisive jumble of lyrics that don't match the beat and melodies that have no harmony, so he scraps the whole thing.

 

"Do you want me to take a look at—" Jaejoong starts because there are songs, so many of them, buried in that pile on Yoochun's desk, and Jaejoong wants to sing all of them, fix them and make them perfect and theirs.

 

"Nah," Yoochun shrugs, "I have no inspiration, I guess."

 

But after the fucking baby starts kicking, he writes a lullaby.

 

*

 

One night, Jaejoong gets so drunk he has to call Junsu to come get him because he can't find the stairs.

 

Junsu takes a private taxi and picks him up from some murder basement bathroom and says, "Oh. You're alive. I was already printing your obituary."

 

"Junsu-yah," Jaejoong sighs and wraps his arms around Junsu's neck. "I miss you."

 

Junsu grunts, stumbling under the weight. "You saw me ten hours ago."

 

"I miss you," Jaejoong repeats into his hair, grip tightening, hands shaking.

 

Junsu relaxes and gives Jaejoong's hair a motherly pat.

 

"I know," he says with patience. He tugs at a tangled lock. "I know you miss him. But it's gonna be okay."

 

*

 

It's not okay.

 

Yoochun doesn't wear a ring and so Jaejoong forgets.

 

He forgets during an interview, when they're busy answering tour questions, and someone asks, "Do you and your wife have a name yet?"

 

Yoochun says, "Min-ki."

 

And then it's like Jaejoong's suddenly got a paper heart, too easily set on fire, too easily consumed, too easily torn and shredded and ripped to pieces.

 

*

 

Paper hearts leave cuts.

 

Jaejoong cycles through an array of people and all of them eagerly cover themselves in papercuts.

 

One night, in Tokyo, Fuku introduces him to a guy. Yuki, he says, but Jaejoong doesn't care.

 

The guy's young and cute, maybe too young and too cute, and the interest's just not there, but then he opens his mouth and speaks, and Jaejoong's heart folds itself into a paper plane and soars off.

 

The way Yuki says his _tsu_ s and his _z_ s is painfully familiar. It's deep and rumbly and later, when Jaejoong bends him over a counter, he says things in accented Korean, sighs _hyung_ and _please_ and Jaejoong can't get enough.

 

They spend a week in bed and when Jaejoong drags himself back to Seoul for a fanmeet, his phone bursts with text messages.

 

A photo comes through while they're in the makeup chair.

 

The phone's on the counter and Junsu doesn't miss it.

 

" 'Miss your lips'?" he says, grossed out.

 

Slowly, Yoochun cranes his neck to see. "Who's Yuki."

 

Jaejoong meets his eyes in the mirror. "We met last week."

 

"Wow," Junsu laughs. "A whole week. Should we mint him a medal or..."

 

Yoochun spends the fanmeet scowling.

 

*

 

Yuki comes to Seoul two weeks later.

 

He just shows up at the studio during an editing session, a lightly packed knapsack on his back, and says, "Hyung."

 

Junsu blinks, then sighs and excuses himself.

 

Shameless, Yuki drapes himself across Jaejoong and nuzzles his neck. "You said you'd take me drinking," he says in Japanese but adds in Korean, "hyung."

 

Yoochun's jaw clenches.

 

Jaejoong grabs a jacket and pauses.

 

He feels numb and stupid but he turns to Yoochun and asks, "You wanna come."

 

"Nah," Yoochun says, checking his phone. "We have a parenting class tonight."

 

Yuki laughs like it's the funniest joke he's ever heard, and Jaejoong feels his cheeks burn.

 

Contemplatively, Yoochun twists his wedding band, then offers an insincere smile. "Have fun."

 

 

*

 

Jaejoong wakes up feeling like shit.

 

His head is throbbing, his throat is sore, and his left hand is burning.

 

Yuki's curled around him, and Jaejoong vaguely remembers something about his favorite tattoo parlor and how maybe he got some new ink.

 

Nauseated, he sits up, pushing Yuki's arm off. He pats himself down for indicators, but there aren't any.

 

Except his hand is still burning, so he glances at it warily, migraine pounding behind his eyes, and pales.

 

On his ring finger, there's a wide, harsh katakana font, stretching around his skin like a band.

 

It says _yuki_ and Jaejoong can't remember wanting this.

 

He doesn't want this.

 

"You started drawing a Yu," Yuki mumbles into the pillow, "so I assumed you wanted my name on you." He tugs the sheets over his head. "Why you wanted it in katakana, though..."

 

Jaejoong staggers into the bathroom and throws up.

 

*

 

Yoochun's filming a movie.

 

It's some sageuk thriller fusion and the sweltering heat is sweeping the set when Jaejoong visits.

 

He crumples into the empty director's chair next to Yoochun and says nothing.

 

Yoochun's hair has grown out. It curls around his jaw and Jaejoong doesn't know where to start.

 

He keeps his hands in his pockets and waits.

 

"Maybe you need a part-time job," Yoochun says easily, fanning himself with the script. "Since all you do now is drink and bed jailbait."

 

He says it jokingly, but his pupils are constricted and his lips are a thin, angry line.

 

"How's your wife," Jaejoong hears himself ask but it sounds so hollow and artificial he amends it to, "How's Min-ki."

 

Yoochun takes a sip of water.

 

The bottle is heavy, beaded with condensation and meaning. He passes it to Jaejoong.

 

Jaejoong takes a swig.

 

With his left hand.

 

The tattoo catches Yoochun's attention immediately.

 

"Oh, yeah," Jaejoong says casually. "So that happened."

 

Yoochun stares for an eternity, eyes flashing with so many emotions and thoughts and regrets.

 

"Remove it," he grits out, teeth clenched.

 

Jaejoong smiles.

 

"I'm not you. You can throw anything away. For me," he says, "once it's there, it stays."

 

*

 

He sends Yuki back the next day.

 

 

*

 

Yoochun's son is born at 5:45 am.

 

It's another inconvenience in a long string of inconveniences.

 

Jaejoong picks Junsu up and they go to the hospital together.

 

It's petty and rude but Jaejoong refuses to go into the room. He fakes having a cold and stays out in the hallway, climbs onto an uncomfortable bench, and tries to put in his fifteen minutes, white mask firmly on.

 

After all, he's learned how to love from his mother and when the door opens and Yoochun comes out, looking exhausted, Jaejoong's feet try to instantly carry him away.

 

Jaejoong's seen a million babies.

 

He doesn't want to see this one.

 

"Come on," Yoochun says grimly. "Don't be a dick."

 

Jaejoong anchors himself to the bench.

 

Careful, Yoochun sits down.

 

"He looks like a potato," Jaejoong says blankly.

 

"Yeah," Yoochun agrees but his voice is soft and he's looking at nothing but the thing in his arms. "You wanna hold him?"

 

Jaejoong wants to cry.

 

Yoochun stays quiet for a long moment then knocks his shoe against Jaejoong's.

 

"Don't you want me to be happy," he murmurs.

 

Jaejoong murmurs back, "I thought you were."

 

*

 

Jaejoong just... decides to enlist.

 

He tells his manager to put together a rushed statement about the timing being right and how the country needs its young men and how Jaejoong wants to be a wall for his fans, dependable and sturdy and loyal.

 

And then he ships off and doesn't talk to anyone for six months.

 

One day, Junsu sends him an email.

 

It's got a picture of Yoochun's son sitting up on his own and grinning and looking so much like Yoochun Jaejoong deletes the whole thing.

 

And then Junsu sends him a zipped folder full of pictures.

 

Jaejoong hits _delete all_.

 

Junsu writes, _did you look?_

 

Jaejoong writes, _did you lie to me?_

 

The emails stop.

 

*

 

A year into service, Jaejoong's unit is too close to the border.

 

It's just a training exercise but something goes wrong and all he remembers is a bright-white sky and warmth spreading through his body.

 

He wakes up in a civilian hospital.

 

Between naps, he watches the news and the one time _he's_ not overdramatizing, the rest of the world is.

 

"Kim Jaejoong... severely injured... fans across the world... time to reexamine domestic draft policies... nationwide outrage..."

 

Jaejoong shuts the TV off.

 

He's fine. He feels okay. Nothing hurts, everything seems to be in its place, and no one's dead.

 

It's not a big deal.

 

Two days into being hospitalized with minor fractures and a concussion, Jaejoong awakes in the middle of the night.

 

Yoochun's curled around him on the narrow hospital bed, pinched by safety railings and a stray blood pressure cuff.

 

His watch ticks in Jaejoong's ear like a heartbeat, seeps into his bones and shakes them worse than any explosive device could.

 

Yoochun says nothing, just wraps his arms so tight Jaejoong's heart monitor spikes.

 

He reaches a trembling hand and unplugs it.

 

Silent, Yoochun buries his face in Jaejoong's neck and digs his fingers into his sides and when Jaejoong feels tears pool at the crook of his shoulder, he doesn't know which one of them they belong to.

 

Suddenly, everything hurts.

 

*

 

Junsu and Yoochun avoid enlistment until the very end.

 

So when Jaejoong's coming out, they're going in.

 

"It's good for JYJ," Baek-hyung says, poring over schedules and emails. "They kept promoting while you were gone, so you can take over now. This'll work out great."

 

*

 

Jaejoong's sister sets up a mat-seon.

 

The woman she picks is short and petite. Her skin is smooth and her voice is pleasant and Jaejoong decides, yeah. Maybe.

 

He owes it to his adoptive parents and he owes it to his fans and he probably owes it to himself to try.

 

He thinks seriously about settling down, tries to picture himself as a husband and a father. He tries not to fall apart under his anxieties, dismisses the bad things lurking in his DNA, the deficiencies in his ability to love unconditionally, his inability to share—

 

He almost talks himself into it, knowing he would only be a good father if partnered with someone who understood him on a molecular level, on a basic, primal, harmonious level, someone who knew what he was thinking and why, who knew _everything_ about him but _still_ liked him, who knew when to pick up the broken pieces and when to let him glue them back together on his own—

 

He decides to try anyway.

 

But then one night, over dinner, his sister says, "Oh, aww, if you and Eun-sunnie have a daughter, she might grow up and marry Yoochunnie's son~"

 

Cold sweat binds Jaejoong to his seat.

 

He breaks up with Eun-sun in the morning.

 

*

 

Jaejoong is busy.

 

He's busy with dramas and movies and concerts and directing.

 

He carries the group's burdens, shoulders his own responsibilities, and months pass by.

 

Junsu sends him passive-aggressive postcards once a week, half of them censored, half of them: _why didn't you warn us the food is awful_ and _my butt was voted best in my squadron_ and _you can't have my liver so I hope you're not drinking_.

 

One week, just as Jaejoong's struggling with lyrics for the new album, the postcard just says, _hyung wrote songs_.

 

That's all it says but Jaejoong reads between the lines, imaginary or not, and searches through the studio. He upturns file cabinets and indexes all the computers but Yoochun likes to write on paper, likes to scribble on permanent, tangible things.

 

The room's a mess of documents by the time Jaejoong finally finds a stack of notebooks.

 

One's titled Junsu but Jaejoong opens it anyway.

 

The pages are full of lyrics and notations and incomprehensible doodles and yeah, it says _for Junsu_ , but these songs are for _Jaejoong's_ vocal range and _his_ tempo preferences and _his_ lyrical taste.

 

So he sits on the floor for hours, ripping pages and arranging them around his feet.

 

It feels like he's drifting on an ocean of what ifs, paper-thin but endless, a page here, a page there, an infinite rebounding wave of yearning lapping at his toes.

 

In the third notebook, which isn't titled at all but Yoochun's drawn curved ugly elephants in the margins, there's a hair and Jaejoong should laugh because it's long and wavy and he used to make fun of Yoochun for shedding everywhere, but it drifts off the page and onto the hem of Jaejoong's sweater.

 

It sits there and seems to sew itself into the wool, just stitches itself like an enchanted needle and thread and Jaejoong locks up all the _what if_ s and _used to be_ s and _i want_ s. He shoves them away in some attic-like corner of his mind to collect dust and be seen by no one, including him.

 

He sweeps the pages back into notebooks and wedges them deep under a wobbly cabinet.

 

In the end, this is all Yoochun can give him.

 

So Jaejoong never reads through the pages again.

 

In this lifetime, that's the best he can give Yoochun.

 

 

*

 

Jaejoong thinks in terms of shelf lives.

 

In terms of expiration dates.

 

Things start then they end. His mother was a parent and then she didn't want to be. He was in a band and then he didn't want to be.

 

"This preschool has a pretty good student-teacher ratio," Yoochun mumbles, preoccupied. "But this one has better amenities—"

 

"Does it have a soccer program," Junsu yawns from his spot by the sound mixer.

 

Jaejoong watches for a long moment, quiet.

 

"I don't want to fuck this up for him," Yoochun says, bent over his laptop.

 

A splintered ache pierces through Jaejoong's chest but he smothers it with learned proficiency.

 

Because Yoochun thinks in terms of endurance.

 

"I really don't wanna fuck up," he repeats, brows drawn together, fingers jittery, eyes narrowed.

 

Jaejoong sighs and smiles and says, "You won't."


End file.
